


The Warrior

by indirectkissesiniceland



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 03:41:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indirectkissesiniceland/pseuds/indirectkissesiniceland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ultimate high school soldier stands in the girls' bathroom, staring at seventeen ugly freckles her twin doesn't share. What does it matter? A model is beautiful, a soldier is plain. It doesn't bother her at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warrior

If Mukuro pressed her palms to her jawline and splayed her fingers just right, she could cover up every single freckle.  
  
"We're fraternal twins, clearly," Junko had told the baseball player on their first day at Hope's Peak. She'd followed up the comment by pointing both index fingers and dotting them all over her cheeks. "None of that on this girl's face! I'm not even wearing makeup right now, except on my eyes."  
  
Which was a lie. Junko would've worn makeup to bed if it didn't make her eyes "unprofessionally smokey" in the morning. She wasn't lying about her lack of freckles, though. Under all that foundation, not one interrupted the smooth, dovelike whiteness of Junko's skin.   
  
So here Mukuro was in the girls' bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, counting every one of her seventeen blemishes.  
  
Mukuro brought all her fingers together and pressed her hands hard against her cheeks. Two freckles dared to show themselves just beyond the reach of her left pinkie. When she moved her hand forward to cover it, three more appeared hovering over her thumb, a follow-the-leader of spots parallel to her index finger.  
  
As soon as the baseball player was done gawking and dropping pickup lines devoid of any subtlety, Junko pulled Mukuro aside and muttered, "Douche" in her ear.  
  
Yet this was also a lie. Leon Kuwata wasn't so bad. He could be sometimes, but not always. Junko wasn't always right.  
  
She just carried herself so well. The strongest generals Mukuro had reported to during her tours both nationally and internationally would have deferred to Junko. Even if she were "spoutin' bull _shit_  those suckers can't hear through all the hopey wax in their ears," she spoke with such unhinged composure that every word sounded like the gospel truth.  
  
"We're fraternal twins.  _Clearly_."  
  
Clearly. Mukuro and Junko had been partners in crime since before they were born. Why did her sister feel the need to turn her claws on Mukuro like that? It was just Kuwata-- _Douche_ , Junko said, even though he always held the computer lab door for Fujisaki with arms full of research, and changed the station whenever a song that "disrespected the ladies" came on the radio--but. But.  
  
If Junko noticed the freckles enough to point them out to Kuwata, they must have been darker than she'd thought. More noticeable. He'd probably point it out to Oowada and Fujisaki in turn. Maybe that's what Ishimaru stared at so intensely when they were on hall duty together. Yamada would exaggerate them in his doodles of his classmates. Hagakure could be counted on for a thoughtless comment during a moment of silence. Naegi would see them, count the imperfections on the face that looked so like her sister's but just couldn't catch up.  
  
Mukuro splayed her fingers, and the offending marks disappeared behind callouses and chewed fingernails that weren't any sort of improvement.  
  
It wasn't despair. Being the plainer twin was hardly the end of the world when one was a soldier and one's sister a supermodel. So Junko teased her for her freckles, her short hair, her calves. So what? She wasn't the model. She could be plain and athletic if she wanted.   
  
For all she knew, she was imagining Naegi's gaze lingering on the headmaster's daughter's long hair and slim legs. Just like she imagined the pang in her chest every time it happened.  
  
The bathroom door swung open, and Mukuro dropped her arms to attention, turning on her heel as if she'd just finished washing her hands. Using the sink for its intended purpose, not wasting her free period concerning herself with freckles or distractions like Makoto Naegi. She found herself face to face with Sakura Oogami.  
  
"Ikusaba," Oogami greeted her, her voice rumbling over the name. Mukuro responded with a single nod of acknowledgement, but Oogami didn't step aside to let her pass. Not one for chit-chat to fill the silence and knowing Oogami to be a woman who got to the point, Mukuro waited.  
  
A long moment passed.  
  
"Are you all right, Ikusaba? Your face is red."  
  
Damn those freckles. Mukuro must have clutched her face too hard when she was trying to rub them away with wishful thinking. As she'd learned as a soldier, though, she kept her expression neutral.  
  
"Just splashing some water on my face. I must have dried it off too roughly with the paper towel. That afternoon lecture was less engaging than I'd hoped."  
  
Oogami crossed her arms. "That afternoon lecture...on Japanese military history? You and Ishimaru seemed to be taking fervent notes."  
  
Damn again. "Junko doesn't take notes, so I'm forced to provide for her. Seven minutes or seven years, a sister is a sister."  
  
The second lie worked better than the first; Oogami chuckled. "Oh, I see."  
  
Mukuro stepped forward to pass again, but Oogami still blocked her escape. Further tactics were necessary to leave?  
  
"Ikusaba, forgive me if I overstep any boundaries, but I cannot help but to notice that your eyes are red."   
  
Faltering in her soldier's presentation, Mukuro's hands flew to her face. Was this budding despair so obvious to the world? Damn those freckles. Damn them, and damn Junko's  _clearly_  when she could've just said they were almost identical, and damn Makoto Naegi for treating her with the same kindness he showed to everyone else.  
  
Oogami put a hand over her heart. "I understand that we have only been classmates for a short while, but if you require a patient ear to listen or a word of advice, I am here to offer my best to you. It does not do to keep our emotions locked inside of us. A maiden's heart may be surprisingly fragile. It takes less than one might suppose to fracture it."  
  
Letting her fingertips slip down her face, her hands fall back to her sides, Mukuro considered Oogami's offer. With her athletic skills and stoicism, she would be a trustworthy partner in combat. Yet Mukuro had seen her tenderness in her friendship with Asahina, a classmate who succeeded as an athlete but showed emotions without hesitation or shame. Oogami would not be the worst choice in confidant.  
  
She wouldn't remember this conversation in the end, anyway.  
  
Junko's assurance that this was true coaxed Mukuro's trust in this woman for just this one moment. "May I ask you something, in complete confidence?"  
  
If Oogami were surprised that Mukuro was opening up to her, she didn't show it. "Yes."  
  
"My freckles." Now that she was actually asking the question, Mukuro felt foolish. What was she to ask this girl, exactly?  _Am I pretty?_  Even if she wouldn't remember one day, she would remember tomorrow. The ultimate high school soldier, whimpering in the bathroom over freckles.  
  
The unasked question hung in the silence as Mukuro tried to reconstruct her sentence. Oogami didn't wait for her.  
  
"Your freckles are markings unique to your body," she said, a finality in her voice. "They make you distinct."  
  
 _From your sister_  was implied. "Unique," Mukuro repeated. "Distinct." Different, then. Different was what she meant.  
  
A knowing smile crept onto Oogami's face. "Your freckles are lovely, Ikusaba. And should anyone, man or woman, suggest that they are not, or that _you_  are not, that person is best left in your past."  
  
Long after Oogami stepped aside to let her exit the bathroom, her words echoed in Mukuro's mind. They echoed when she walked back into homeroom with eyes no longer red. They echoed when Junko told her the memory serum was ready. They echoed on the last day when she ate breakfast with Ishimaru before morning hall monitor duties, when she aced her Japanese military history presentation that afternoon, when Makoto Naegi cupped her face in his hands and kissed all seventeen freckles on the quad after dark.  
  
 _Your freckles are lovely._  
  
Leave him in the past. He'd forget those kisses in the morning anyway.


End file.
